


Get Me Through The Night

by ForbiddenToast



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 05:46:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4089217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForbiddenToast/pseuds/ForbiddenToast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He just wants Pete home, to know if he's okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Me Through The Night

**Author's Note:**

> I was going write this in the past tense since I'm more comfortable with that but I wanted to try something different and did it in present instead (or tried to anyway).

The seconds continue to tick away as he’s huddled in the blanket, continuing to watch the comedy show rerun on the television and he refuses point blank to check the clock for the one thousandth time that night.

He’s worried, letting his own thoughts eat him up and the slap stick comedy showing on the only light source in the cold room is distracting his mind a little.

His mind always seems to jump to the worst conclusions didn’t it?

 _He’s_ been gone all day, leaving the blonde to sit on the couch and stew in worry over where _he_ went and what _he’s_ doing.  The night before they’d had a ‘disagreement’ over something so small, something that didn’t even matter and now the glassy eyed man just wanted him home; he didn’t care if he shouted at him, screamed in frustration or even stayed in the guest bedroom all night instead of beside him.

He just wants Pete home, to know he’s okay.

He believes he deserves this torture in his mind though, he’d shouted awful things at him. Asked him if he’d _really_ cared about the little human that would be in their lives soon enough, if he’d been too busy _caught in his own fucking life_ to remember a stupid meeting with Elisa at the hospital.  

Burying his face into quivering hands Patrick tries to calm himself down again, he can’t do this again. He remembers the look of utter shock on his husband’s face, the look of anger when he shouted at him and the look of defeat when he left. Slamming the white door for good measure.

He’d been tired when Pete arrived home, exhausted and stressed out from everything and he just let himself pour all of his frustration into the fact Pete had probably been held up in traffic and couldn’t make a stupid meeting.

It didn’t justify the screaming he’d done when Pete walked in, which is what hurts the most – he didn’t even let him explain.

The comedy is long forgotten when a tear lets itself loose on his cheek and Patrick grips his head for some sort of leverage on the world, he feels like curling up into a ball and ceasing to exsist. It’d be better for Pete wouldn’t it? Maybe he could find a husband who wouldn’t shout at him the first time he messes up.

Fresh tears are pouring down his face as his chest heaves uncomfortably underneath the blanket. He needs air, is gasping for it but none of it’s going in. What if Pete decides he _has_ had enough? What if he moves out and never wants to see him again? The band would have to break up for good, people will lose their jobs because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

Everyone would be miserable because of him.

Tugging at the blonde strands between his fingers, Patrick is rewarded with a sharp sting from his scalp, it’s helping him focus on something else slightly. He knows he looks like a mad man, but it’s not like he can help it.

Patrick just want’s Pete back to apologise, to plead for forgiveness he believes he doesn’t deserve. How long will it be before Pete returns with divorce papers?

The man’s border lining hysterics now, clutching his hair like a lifeline and it only reminds him of when Pete used to comfort him years ago when he was like this, sixteen and terrified of going on stage.

 _“I-I’m sorry.”_ He gasps out to nobody when the blanket falls to the floor, unable to keep it’s place on the couch with Patrick’s trembling form.

He’s so far gone in his world of regret that he doesn’t register the noise of keys rattling from the porch or the sound of someone humming a recent pop tune as the door swings open.  He needs to breathe, he needs to apologise, he needs-

“Patrick?”

The distressed man can hardly make his husband out from the tears clouding his vision, he’s carrying what looks like a bag of food and his backpack he took with him last night and Patrick swears he sees a concerned look wash over Pete’s face.

Not wasting any time he starts saying “I-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-“ around failed attempts for oxygen and he starts tugging at his hair even more when an unpleasant ripping sound makes it’s way through the pounding in his ears. “I-I’m s-sorry, I-“

Forgetting about the food in his hands, Pete drops the bag and settles himself on the sofa beside Patrick and takes no time in wrapping his arms around the shaking man. “Hey, hey it’s okay Patrick.”

He knows exactly what’s going on inside Patrick’s head, just like he always does.

“It’s not though!” Patrick shouts when Pete pulled him closer. “I-I said that y-you-“

Trying to sooth him, Pete drops a kiss into Patrick’s hair softly, his lips brushing the trembling fingers now home there. “You need to calm down, okay? Just take a deep breath, for me honey.”

At the sound of the word ‘honey’ his breathing becomes even more rapid if that was possible, he doesn’t deserve someone as wonderful as Pete. Pete would never _ever_ say Patrick didn’t care about _their goddamn son!_

“Patrick? Patrick look at me.” The older man begs when he realizes Patrick’s getting worse, he’s never seen him this bad before, and while he can’t say his words didn’t hurt him last night and cause him to crash at Joe’s, Patrick’s really worrying him now.

When he doesn’t, Pete removes his hands from where he tried to get the blonde to let go of his hair and instead brings his hand to Patrick’s damp cheek.

“Patrick _please,”_ He begs, silencing Patrick’s chant of apologies. “It’s okay, I promise but you’re gonna hurt yourself at this rate.”

“But-“

“No buts.” He interjects and wipes away some of the tears with his tumb. “Breathe. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

“O-Okay.” Patrick swallows, and tries to concentrate on his breathing. _In and out, in and out._

They both stay like that into the early morning, with the television being the only thing to make noise except for Patrick’s breaths that are becoming more steady by the minute as Pete rubs his back in a comforting manner while murmering things like _“It’s okay Patrick._ ” And _“I forgive you.”_

It’s three in the morning by the time Patrick’s breath is steady enough to tell Pete his husband is asleep, and surprisingly he can feel himself drifting off as well in the aftermath of what was quite a big blow up for the two of them.

Sleepily though, he manages to let an affectionate kiss loose on the sleeping blonde’s cheek before he drifts off. While reminding himself that his marriage with Patrick may _not_ be perfect, and full of fairy tales but instead flawed and prone to fights every now and again. But he loves the person curled up next to him and he knows Patrick thinks the world of him, if tonight had done anything good, it had cemented the fact that if they work together they can get through any fight and make this work.


End file.
